


It’s not what it looks like...

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [30]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Don't copy to another site, Drama Queen Stiles Stilinski, Dramatic Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Stiles Stilinski is a Drama Queen, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “What’s wrong with my cuddles?” Derek asked, ignoring the way Stiles was now grinding his forehead against his shoulder and calmly flipping past Demons. He knew enough about Demons without having to read about them. There were so many different kinds anyway that one page of information was hardly enough to do more than recognize somethingwasa Demon.“You’re not a big, fluffy animal!” Stiles insisted, then paused. “Actually, could you—”“No.”“Oh come on! It’d be like two birds with one stone! Boyfriendandpet!”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667605
Comments: 25
Kudos: 776





	It’s not what it looks like...

**Author's Note:**

> Tagging short one-shots is hard man...  
> (Also I've been writing for thirty days. THIRTY DAYS. That is a lot for my sleep-deprived little brain lol Man, there are only 20 days left... That seems nuts. I been stuck at home since the 14th, and now I'm of the impression I will finish this entire 50 days challenge and STILL be at home... We live in wild times...)

“What about a Capybara?” 

Derek’s brain took a few seconds to sort those words out, because he was staring down at a _Chupacabra_ in the book open on his lap and he was trying to figure out if that was what Stiles was referring to. 

Of course, it wasn’t, because Stiles was continuing their conversation from a few hours prior in the car, like his brain hadn’t once left the topic and Derek’s was meant to just follow along without being horrendously confused. 

To be fair, after being friends with Stiles for four years, and dating him for almost five on top of that, he was well-versed in the inner-workings of Stiles’ mind so that he recognized Stiles was asking about the _animal_ and not mispronouncing the creature on the page. 

“What makes you think any animals, regardless of how many you list, will not feel threatened living with a Werewolf?” Derek asked, calmly flipping the page in the book he was reading. He didn’t _have_ to read it, things had been relatively quiet the past few weeks, but it never hurt to keep informed. Stiles always read up on various existing creatures, so Derek felt like it wasn’t a bad thing to follow suit when time permitted. 

“Okay, but like, there has to be _one_ animal that doesn’t see a human but smell something else, right? Like, moles!” Stiles slapped him in the arm. “Moles have _horrible_ eyesight! We could get a mole!”

“You’re still missing the point,” Derek insisted with a sigh. “Moles might not see me and thus won’t get as confused about seeing and smelling something different, but they’d still _smell_ a predator. You really wanna give a poor little mole anxiety like that?” 

Stiles whined and let his head fall onto Derek’s shoulder. “But I want a pet,” he insisted dramatically. “I grew up not being able to have one because my dad and I were never around. I’d always planned on getting one when I was older and living on my own, but that was _before_ the whole Werewolf thing threw my life off-kilter. I want a pet to cuddle with.” 

“What’s wrong with my cuddles?” Derek asked, ignoring the way Stiles was now grinding his forehead against his shoulder and calmly flipping past Demons. He knew enough about Demons without having to read about them. There were so many different kinds anyway that one page of information was hardly enough to do more than recognize something _was_ a Demon. 

“You’re not a big, fluffy animal!” Stiles insisted, then paused. “Actually, could you—”

“No.” 

“Oh come on! It’d be like two birds with one stone! Boyfriend _and_ pet!” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Why must you crush all my dreams?” Stiles asked dramatically. Overly so. He obediently sat back up though and went back to scribbling on the piece of paper he’d printed out. 

Stiles always seemed to be able to edit things more easily when they were printed, for whatever reason. Derek found it cute that he always apologized to the trees whenever he was printing out stuff for work, especially since the trees were _already_ paper. It wasn’t like Stiles was immediately killing a tree, the tree was already long dead. 

Derek kept flipping slowly through the book, thinking on what Stiles had said. It wasn’t the first time he’d talked about wanting a pet, and Derek honestly felt guilty that they wouldn’t be able to get one together. He’d love to be able to get Stiles a dog or something for his birthday or Christmas—or just because. But Derek had enough experience with animals to know they did _not_ like Werewolves. It would just be a bad scenario all around. 

Still, maybe once in a while, when Derek was feeling really, really, _really_ generous, he could turn into a wolf and let Stiles have his fun. He wasn’t going to play fetch, though! Derek had his pride, and he drew the line at fetch. 

He looked forward to running, though. That was one thing he enjoyed doing while in wolf form. Running was just so... he felt free. He loved it. He missed the Preserve.

Not that he didn’t still go frequently, but ever since they’d started renovations at the loft, it was harder to head out that way from the sheriff’s house. He was just grateful that the man was allowing him and Stiles to live there with him and _not_ force them to sleep in separate rooms. Considering they’d been living at the loft together for three years, it was nice knowing Derek was allowed to share the bed with Stiles here, too. 

Still, he missed _their_ bed. And the Preserve. And the easy domesticity of living together. Sure, they were still living together, but it was weird and awkward under the sheriff’s roof. Derek didn’t feel comfortable having sex here, despite Stiles’ _numerous_ attempts to start something. 

He didn’t know, it just felt disrespectful somehow? He wanted to go home.

Only two weeks to go before the renos were done. He couldn’t fucking _wait_. 

Derek was startled out of his thought by a pen flying past his face. Stiles had a bad habit of flicking his pens back and forth between his fingers when he was reading—or putting them in his mouth, or tapping them on the table, or really doing anything with them that wasn’t what pens were for. Evidently, Stiles had flicked this pen a little too hard because it sailed past Derek to land on the floor. 

“Shit.” Stiles uncrossed his legs, having been sitting with his feet under his butt on the couch, and then started to lean over Derek. 

Anticipating this action, Derek raised the book in his lap so that Stiles could crawl over him and stretch his arm out, letting out a small grunt while he attempted to reach the wayward pen. He felt a tug at his jeans, but knew it was just Stiles’ position, so he waited with the book in the air for Stiles’ triumphant shout. 

“Ha! Success!” Stiles brandished the pen in triumph, then crawled backwards back towards his spot. 

Derek felt the tugging on his jeans again, and when Stiles’ face was exactly above his crotch, he stopped. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Derek opened his mouth to insist now was _not_ the time to act this way, considering the sheriff would be home any minute, but Stiles spoke first. 

“Uh, Derek? I’m stuck.” 

“Stuck? What do you mean you’re stuck?” 

“I mean I’m stuck? You know, being unable to extricate oneself from a specific position?” 

“How the fuck are you _stuck_?” Derek demanded, dropping the book he’d still been holding up onto the empty cushion beside him and reaching down to figure out what was going on. He couldn’t see anything because of Stiles’ position, but he tried to feel around for what was stuck where. 

“I think my hoodie zipper is caught on your jeans. Either the button or the zipper, I can’t really tell.” Stiles’ breath was hot against his crotch. 

Derek knew it was probably more psychosomatic than anything else, since he was wearing thick jeans and boxer-briefs, but having Stiles’ face _right there_ after literal _weeks_ of no action was _not_ helping things right now. 

“Stiles, I swear to God,” Derek muttered, trying to figure out where they were connected. “Your dad will be home soon.” 

“I didn’t do this on _purpose_ ,” Stiles insisted, sounding offended. He tried to tug back and Derek felt his pants tighten with the action. He grabbed Stiles’ shoulders to stop him, worried—he didn’t know. What if one of the zippers snapped off and flew up into Stiles’ eye or something?! 

“I can’t figure out where you’re caught, can you—?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles shifted so he could reach one hand between them, Derek feeling it against his crotch while his boyfriend fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie. It was doing nothing for Derek right now, because the shifting and pressing on his fucking _dick_ with Stiles’ face _right there_ was going to make him pop a boner soon. 

And, to make matters worse, the cruiser had just rounded the corner. 

Because of course it had. 

“Stiles, your dad is down the street, I swear to God if he walks in with your face in my crotch, I’m going to murder you.” 

“Me?! How is this _my_ fault?! Your jeans are dumb!” Stiles was still tugging and pulling at the place they were connected, and Derek could feel his dick hardening the more Stiles moved his hand against it. 

“Would you _stop_ with that?” Derek snapped, slapping at Stiles’ hand and beginning to try on his own. 

The cruiser had just pulled up and Derek was tempted to grab Stiles somehow and race up the stairs. He’d even settle for yanking his pants off and bolting, but he couldn’t even do _that_ because he couldn’t figure out where the _fucking_ zipper was! 

This was the worst. This was the absolute worst. He could hear the sheriff locking the cruiser, hear him walking up the drive, hear him fitting the key into the lock. 

Stiles froze when the door swung open, the sheriff calling out a greeting. He shut the door, took a few steps into the house, and Derek felt all the blood in his body move from his dick to his face when the man paused in the doorway to the living room, staring in at them with the most unreadable expression on his face. 

“It’s not what it looks like...” Stiles’ muffled voice said when the silence stretched for too long. 

“He reached over me to grab his pen, and somehow got stuck,” Derek blurted out. He’d never so badly wished for the floor to open up beneath him. It was bad enough the sheriff _knew_ Stiles sucked Derek’s dick, it was _worse_ having a visual, even if there was no actual dick being sucked right now. 

For a few seconds, the sheriff just stood in the doorway, staring at them. Then, slowly, his face shifted into one of exasperation and he let out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. 

“I don’t wanna know,” he muttered, as if his brain had gone through many scenarios before deciding it was best to ignore all of them. He moved further into the living room and then bent down right in front of Derek, likely so he could see the place they were caught on one another. 

Derek stared up at the ceiling and willed his dick to just _behave_. The last thing he needed was to _actually_ get hard while Stiles’ dad was basically _right there_. 

“Stiles, crawl back over Derek this way,” the sheriff said, motioning the direction the pen had been in. “If you use your hands to walk on the ground, you should be able to get your hoodie zipper undone all the way and then you can just pull it off. We can work on separating the hoodie from Derek’s jeans without your face buried in his crotch.” 

That sentence was made _infinitely more embarrassing_ when Derek heard the fucking _amusement_ in his tone. This was the worst. Derek wanted to die. He hated everything, why was this happening to him? 

Stiles obediently shifted himself up, using his hands to inch forward and then walking with them on the ground a moment later, as he’d done when he’d tried to retrieve his pen. Derek could feel the tug of the zipper, and Stiles’ pelvis was pressing against Derek’s thighs when the hoodie was finally undone. 

The sheriff groaned while getting back to his feet and moved over to Stiles, who was still half on top of Derek, half supporting his weight on the ground. The sheriff helped him get out of the hoodie one arm at a time, and Stiles slid the rest of the way off Derek before rolling onto his back on the floor and thrusting both arms in the air. 

“Success! Freedom!”

“My child is an idiot,” the sheriff sighed, turning to Derek. He looked almost sympathetic when their eyes met, like he could imagine how much Derek wished to just disappear into the floor. At least the sheriff didn’t look embarrassed or uncomfortable, so that was a plus. “I’ll go find you an aconite-laced beer. If you need any tools to get the hoodie off, I’ve got some in the hall closet.” 

Derek just nodded stiffly and watched the sheriff walk away. Then he nudged forcefully at Stiles’ form when he started laughing and got to his feet, holding the hoodie in one hand while moving to the bathroom to finish getting rid of the damn thing. 

Dinner was going to be so horrifically awkward, Derek was never letting Stiles lean over him ever again! 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


End file.
